


the force will provide

by peradi



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, happy rogue one fic because we all need it, i am one with the force and it is one with me, or whatever that mantra is, radi writes something happy for once, the fic where they get married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:36:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9252755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peradi/pseuds/peradi
Summary: Baze, Chirrut, and the wedding of the century,





	

**Author's Note:**

> i did a happy thing
> 
> follow me on tumblr @peradii

“We will be married by the end of the month,” says Chirrut, and Baze is so shocked that he falters his next blow; Chirrut deflects it effortlessly, sweeping Baze’s staff out of his hands and landing a solid smack to his kidneys that has Baze bent over and wheezing. 

 

“Yes,” says Chirrut, merrily, “married,” and he swings the end of his staff up, catching Baze’s chin. Baze sprawls into the Jedha dust. The sky is the thin blue  of pre-dawn, and spangled with stars, criss-crossed with white trails left by vanishing ships, off to Force-knows-where. “Boop,” Chirrut coos, tapping the end of Baze’s nose with his staff. He’s standing over Baze, arrogant and grinning and so confident of his victory: Baze kicks him solidly in the balls. 

 

Chirrut coughs, doubles over; Baze flips to his feet, in the process kicking Chirrut hard in the face. Blood-nosed and gagging, Chirrut stumbles back. 

 

“No,” Baze says, flatly.

 

“What do you mean?” Chirrut says. “The Force has decreed it.”

 

“It is arrogant to assume that the Force speaks to you,” snaps Baze. He’s the most devout guardian of the Temple, and Chirrut’s insistence that the Force whispers the secrets of the future to him is most irksome. It is blasphemy. It is also, possibly, true. 

 

Chirrut smirks. “We will be married by the end of the month,” he says, and it sounds like a dare. Chirrut is all dare and challenge: twenty-three and shining, brave to the point of reckless. 

 

“Like fuck we are,” says Baze.

 

“The Force says so.”

 

“Ask the Force for guidance. Perhaps it will guide you to a better proposal. Now, hush. People are watching: you are distracting them from their most sacred duty of combat.”

 

For there are: initiates and teachers alike, slanting sidelong glances at the pair, exchanging smirks with each other. Somewhere, credits clink. “Betting is forbidden in the Temple!” Baze thunders. He wheels around. All the initiates very quickly busy themselves with training. “This is a sacred place,” he adds, “and not the place for -- “

 

“--for rampant animal sex?” suggests Bryde, one of the initiates: a sly, skinny girl, dark-skinned, with flyaway black hair. “We all know you’ve been at it with Chirrut. I  _ saw _ you.” 

 

“Right,” says Baze. “Right, I’m going to -- to meditate. Initiate Bryde!” She snaps to attention. “Chirrut is in need of a sparring partner. Go.”

 

To her credit, Bryde’s hands only quiver a little as she clutches her staff and walks out to confront Chirrut. 

  
  
  


\--

  
  


When Baze is out of sight, Chirrut clips Bryde around the ear. “Don’t be an idiot,” he says. And then: “What odds are you giving us?” She tells him. “Hm. Not bad. Put me down for a hundred.”

 

“Precognition is cheating, teacher.”

 

“Did you want to spar with me?”

 

“No, teacher! Sorry, teacher.”

  
  


\--

  
  


“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force and the Force is with me -- “

 

“What are you doing?” 

 

“Praying,” says Chirrut.

 

“Here?”

 

“It is the best place to think.”

 

It is the high heat of early afternoon: the sun glowers down, and shade has shrunk to a whisper. Chirrut sits cross-legged and bare-chested in the middle of the empty training yard, sweat glossing his shaven head.

 

(And his abdominal muscles. Also those. Baze very deliberately does not look at them. He is angry with his paramour. He is. He definitely is.)

 

“What are you praying for?”

 

“--is with me.” Chirrut cracks open one milky eye. “The same thing as ever: balance and guidance. The Force provides.”

 

“I know about your bet with Initiate Bryde. Shouldn’t you be planning a wedding?”

 

“The Force provides.”

 

“Are you trying to annoy me into saying yes?”

 

“The Force provides,” says Chirrut, and opens the other eye. Bacta injected straight into the nasal canals -- a thoroughly unpleasant, but very effective treatment -- has sorted out his broken nose.  

 

“It won’t work,” Baze tells Chirrut’s impassive, gently smiling face. “Not at all.”

 

“Pray with me, dear one.”

 

Baze rolls his eyes. Says, “I’m rolling my eyes.”

 

“I can tell.”

 

“Did the Force let you know that as well?”

 

“Oh no. But you do that around me an awful lot.” Chirrut unfolds, stands with martial grace, his muscles moving like silk under his skin, like parts of an immaculate machine, like --

 

Baze is annoyed at him.  _ Baze is annoyed at him _ . 

 

Chirrut reaches up, caresses his cheek. “The Force provided you, darling. It provides everything.”

 

\-- Baze is annoyed at him, he is, he is. “Get some romance in you, stop blaspheming, and I’ll say yes.”

 

“We will be married by the end of the month,” Chirrut says, and kisses Baze. 

 

Baze is a master of self-control, well-versed in the ways of the Whills. He manages to stand stiff and unyielding as a durasteel pole for precisely three heartbeats before kissing Chirrut back. 

 

“No,” he mumbles against Chirrut’s mouth. “No, nope, no.”

  
  


\--

  
  


He says yes after that. He says yes quite a bit, and  _ Chirrut _ , and then yes again, and it isn’t in regards to the proposal but something else entirely; but it is rather rude to eavesdrop on such private matters, so we shall leave them to it. 

  
  


\--

  
  


Jedha isn’t known for its cuisine: food must be flown in, for the dry sand yields scraggly plants with thick stems and sharp thorns -- not exactly good eating -- and little more. There is a well known saying: Jedha grows kyber, and nothing else. 

 

Thus, the food at the Temple is infamously bad. Today’s offering is a greyish blancmange that may have been meat, and some form of green paste that might have once have been a vegatable. Maybe. 

 

It has been two weeks since Chirrut’s -- Baze won’t (can’t!) call it a proposal, so he goes with  _ premonition _ until he remembers that every one of Chirrut’s premonitions comes true so he has taken to calling it  _ banthashit declaration _ (conveniently forgetting that this is also what he calls Chirrut’s premonitions, shortly before they become true.)

 

A week until the deadline. As it were. 

 

Chirrut hasn’t mentioned it since. 

 

Baze shoves another forkful of the possibly-organic-in-origin green stuff into his mouth, and slants a look at his paramour. As ever, Chirrut eats with every sign of enjoyment. 

 

It is not that Baze does not believe in the Force -- he does, of course he does! The Force is everywhere, in every living thing, guiding them towards the best possible future: it would take something monumentally dreadful to quell his belief in it (like the burning of the Jedi Temple, or the slaughter of the initiates, or something equally impossible). In many ways he is more devout than Chirrut: he trusts in the Force absolutely. 

 

And this is the grounds for his objection: it is arrogant to assume you know the future. It is blasphemy. They are guardians of kyber, of the Temple; they are the servants of the Force; and it guides them in the most subtle of ways. It does not concern itself with little things like the date of a marriage. 

 

The eating area is communal, to foster a sense of comradeship among the guardians, teachers and initiates alike; and so it isn’t really a breach of protocol for little Bryde to seat herself down next to Baze; but oh how Baze wishes it was, because then at least he could have grounds to get rid of her. “You’re going to owe me a hundred credits,” she trills. Her hair is braided with gold thread; when she tosses her head it spangles.

 

Baze makes a thin, strangled noise. That is a small fortune. 

 

“I will,” says Chirrut. His lips thin. “It seems I was mistaken.”

 

No.  _ No _ . Baze stands up -- his chair scrapes and screams against the floor, and the tables turn to stare -- points at Chirrut and snaps, “No! I know you, and you cannot use this child against me.”

 

“--um,” says Bryde, but Baze crashes over her --

 

“You blaspheme the Force, you shamelessly manipulate me, you -- you are infuriating! And no, I will not marry you because you will have to pay this initiate a hundred credits, and no I will not marry you to prove that the Force does speak to you, or because you have received a premonition that it is so; I will marry you because I love you, and you love me.”

 

Everyone applauds. There are a few teary eyes. Chirrut jumps up into Baze’s arms. Baze catches him out of instinct and --

 

\-- fuck. 

 

And also, somehow,  _ yes _ . 

  
  


\--

  
  


“What are you doing?” says Baze. 

 

“Praying.”

 

“What for? We’ve got invitations to send out, we need to find someone who can provide actual food rather than the slop the Temple serves -- “

 

“Praying to the Force for guidance,” says Chirrut. 

 

“We need to organise a  _ wedding _ . We need to send out invites -- “

 

“The Force will let people know where to go.”

 

“Blasphemer,” Baze mutters, but takes his hand, and joins him in prayer and -- just for a moment -- all around them is still.

  
  


\--

  
  


Their wedding is the biggest event the Temple has seen for a generation. Lights, glitter, music and bonfires, and it seems that all of Jedha has turned up to celebrate, for all of Jedha owes something to Baze and Chirrut. Everyone has their story: of the smiling, irreverent youth who claims that the Force speaks to him, of the stern, kind-eyed boy who is never far from his side, and how together they have freed slaves from bondage, brought medicine to the sick and comfort to the weary; how they trekked three hours through a sandstorm to return an injured husband to his wife; how they fought the Hutt off, and as a consequence Jedha is one of the few planets where the crime family does not have a foothold. They are young heroes, brave and proud, and their union was a long time coming; and the Force saw to it that everyone knew where to go.

 

This is the story Chirrut says. 

 

As the small hours of the morning approach, Baze grabs his face. “I sent out the kriffing invites,” he says.

 

“The Force told me you would,” says Chirrut, smiling up, and his face is caught in the red glare of the bonfire, and he seems to glow from within.

 

He is the most vexing creature Baze has ever met, and Baze loves him so much he could die from it. 

  
  
  



End file.
